


Too Late

by emeraldfire512



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sad Stiles Stilinski, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 22:29:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3305687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldfire512/pseuds/emeraldfire512
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tag to "Weaponized." Stiles' futile attempt to pass on Agent McCall's message about the antidote, and his despair (and guilt) when he thinks he has failed. Drabble, one shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Late

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf, I swear.

The blood was dripping down his face, his heart was beating its way right out of his chest. The adrenaline was almost more than he could handle.

He could feel the sickness loosening its hold on him, and it terrified him.

He flew down the stairs, half amazed that his feet didn’t fail him, leaving him in a pile at the bottom of the steps. Maybe they knew that this was too important (it should be nothing new by now).

He reached the bottom of the last flight of stairs and careened around a corner. McCall’s message kept running through his head. Reishi. Reishi. On the shelf. An antidote.

If his heart hadn’t been beating so fast, he might have appreciated the irony of it. Of course the antidote was in the vault. Where else could it have been?

If only he could get there in time.

He could see the wall ahead of him now.

He reached the wall, and with a sinking feeling, realized that he couldn’t open it. He needed it be opened from the inside.

He started pounding, throwing his fists at the wall with all the strength he could muster.

“Scott!” he screamed at the wall, “Scott, can you hear me? Scott! I need you to open the wall. SCOTT!”

With the last attempt, he pounded harder.

“Scott!” he yelled again, “the antidote. It’s in there with you. Reishi, It’s in a jar on a shelf. IT’S IN THERE WITH YOU. Scott!”

There was no answer.

Stiles’ infection was fading. It has run its course.

There was no answer, no sound from the other side of the wall.

Two and two do not always come together to bring a pleasant truth.

Stiles pounded on the wall with new desperation, “Scott! SCOTT!”

His screams turned to sobs as his strength left him and he slid down the wall.

He accepted the inevitability of his worst fear.

He was too late, they were all gone.

Kira. Malia. _Scott_.

They were all gone, because Stiles had been too late to save them. He had failed his friends, and it had cost them their lives.

Sweet, awkward Kira, whose smile lit up a room.

Fierce, curious Malia, who Stiles could honestly say he may have fallen in love with, given the chance.

And Scott. His partner in crime. The alpha of their rag-tag pack. His best friend.  
His brother.

Scott was gone, and it was Stiles’ fault. And he would never forgive himself.

Eventually, the tears stopped. The sadness that took their place was silent. It was a mix of shock, and horror. This was despair.

Oh God. How was he going to tell Melissa? He didn’t want to be the one to tell her. He didn’t want to see the pain in her eyes as her world came crashing down.

And the Yukimuras. He had to tell them. It would break their hearts.

But it had to be him, because it was his fault.

Oh God.

He had to tell his dad.

He had to tell him that he had failed. That his friends were dead because he hadn’t been fast enough.

Melissa wouldn’t blame him. She should, but she wouldn’t.  
It wasn’t in her nature.

Stiles wished that McCall had been slower. That he, Stiles, had been the first to die. Then he wouldn’t have to live with the guilt.

He wouldn’t have to live without his best friend.

He didn’t want to face life without Scott.

He didn’t think he could do it. He wasn’t the strong one.

He gulped for air. There was a new wave of tears coming, but these ones were sadder.

Suddenly, the wall on which Stiles was leaning swung open. He whipped his head around so fast he was faintly surprised that nothing snapped.

But the sight of his best friend slowly crawling towards him, breathless, sweaty, and exhausted, knocked all other thoughts out of his mind.

Stiles felt the air return to his lungs. Scott was alive, everything would be okay.

He leaned forward, intending to wrap his arms around Scott, but settled for a rough hand on his best friend’s shoulder, as they communicated with their eyes as they studied each other, assuring themselves that the other was okay.

It felt like an eternity before Scott gathered enough strength to speak, “Dude,” he began hoarsely, “why are you covered in blood?”

Stiles looked down at his shirt, covered in a light spray of pink. “Huh. I had almost forgotten about that. Don’t worry though, it’s not mine,” he added lightly.

“I can smell that. Who’s is it?”

“Can we take a moment to talk about the fact that you know what my blood smells like, because – frankly – that’s disturbing.”

Scott gave a low chuckle and Stiles almost smiled. Everything was going to be okay. They could handle anything as long as they were together. They’d show those assassins that this town did not go down without a fight.

Besides, they were now four down, how many more could there be to go?

**Author's Note:**

> Because Stiles sliding down the wall in despair almost broke me. You're welcome.


End file.
